


The Grand Larceny

by Tigresse



Series: John Watson the JimLock SOS Helpline [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, BAMF John Watson, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, M/M, Oral Sex, Psychopaths In Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 01:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18840853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Whenever Jim and Sherlock are in trouble, they turn to one particular 'friend'In other words - 'Help two men in need and they will look for you when they need help again'





	The Grand Larceny

It was a late summer evening/early night, around 10-30pm. The sun had finally set and the last rays of the sunlight had faded, leaving London garbed in a welcoming soft darkness. A nice balmy breeze blew and Baker Street was still up and about, with cars speeding past and shops still open, pedestrians hurrying towards their homes after a hard day’s work or a nice meal at one of the nearby restaurants.

 

A shiny Rolls Royce parked in front of a famous address, the engine still on, and remained stationary only for a few seconds as two men got out and sped inside the house.

 

The two men who had stumbled into 221B Baker Street, drunk, giggly and all over each other, managed to climb the stairs, kissing and groping one another. Sherlock held a plastic bag in his hands, with things inside it that tinkled and produced clanging sounds as they moved about and knocked against each other. Jim held a similar bag and that too produced a metallic sounds as he flung it in the general direction of the couch when they entered the flat. Jim kissed Sherlock hard, while trying to open the willowy man's clothes at the same time. As the latter helped him a bit, the clothes came off easily and lay in an untidy heap on the floor.

 

Sherlock suddenly said, “Not fair.”

 

When Jim lowered his brows in a questioning manner, the detective mock pouted and said, “ _This,”_ he pointed at himself, “Me being butt naked while you’re still wearing your Westwood and Gucci tie. If we are about to do it, it’s only fair that you should be as naked as I am.”

 

“I am naked under this,” Jim snickered, “This is only my wrapper. Unwrap me Sherly, like a present, a _Christmas present_.”

 

“The best present I ever had,” Sherlock said lustfully, hands working on the suit, “I can’t wait to see it, _again_.”

 

Knowing how finicky Jim was about his precious and expensive clothes, Sherlock peeled off the jacket, shirt, tie, trousers etc. without crushing or tearing them, though in his heart that was what he really longed to do. But a snarly, grouchy Jim was not so much fun in bed and he had this incredible ability to produce a knife out of nowhere and give Sherlock a nice ‘cut’. _No, not worth it, really_!

 

“Yesss,” Sherlock hummed in appreciation, “Wow!”

 

“What are you doing?” Jim asked, in dismay.

 

“Why, I am about to fuck you on the kitchen table.”

 

“First dress me up. This is a kink fest.”

 

“Oh yeah, sorry.”

 

Sherlock reached for the bags they had been carrying.

 

***

 

Jim knew he had unleashed Sherlock’s sexually active and kinky, adventurous and dominating side when he had introduced the virgin to the pleasures of the flesh; but rarely did Sherlock let it all go and give himself so completely to him. That night the handsome, strong, green-eyed man was so utterly debauched and lusty that Jim got marked in several places while he was being ravished and he encouraged Sherlock with ample moans, pants and dirty talk. The more he babbled, the more excited Sherlock got till he had literally ‘thrown’ Jim on the kitchen table and started to push inside him.

 

“OhhhhhmyyyyyGodddd,” Jim cried out with pleasure and a mild borderline pain as the thick girth of his lover sank inside him with minimum preparation.

 

Sherlock paused, ever the gentleman, and waited for a ‘go-ahead’. When Jim took a few deep breaths and nodded, he began to fuck the brains out of the Irish criminal, taking him on a ride that made the small, waifish man howl and scream with ecstasy. He gripped Sherlock’s biceps hard enough to bruise them as he was brutally fucked into, listening to the sounds of items randomly falling off the other side of the table as Sherlock slammed into him. His cock lay flat against his stomach, leaking a puddle there, but when he tried to touch it Sherlock grabbed his wrists and stopped him. “ _No_ , no cheating, you had a condition which I fulfilled and now I shall have _my way_ , as you promised.”

 

“So close….” Jim panted.

 

“I’ll make you explode, just be patient.”

 

“Oh fuck….please Sherlylocks.”

 

Those paintbrush like eyelashes fluttered and Jim looked so innocent lying there, at his mercy. But Sherlock was not about to get manipulated this time. He had been in a relationship with his former adversary long enough to read into his every move and Jim was not going to have the upper hand, _no way_. He would let the raven-haired man cum only when Sherlock himself was ready to cum too, and not a minute before that.

 

“I’ll kill you,” Jim went from innocent angel to threatening devil in a millisecond.

 

How Sherlock loved that! “That….would….be…..so….fucking…..glorious,” the curly haired man rasped out between thrusts.

 

“Fuck! Oh fuck, fuck fuck!”

 

“Yeah, fuck, that’s what I am doing.”

 

“Condescending bitch!”

 

Jim tried to slap and punch Sherlock who expertly evaded the blows, mimicking his sing-song ‘No you won’t’ several times till things heated up so much between them that neither man was capable of speech or teasing anymore. All they could do was cling together and move, scale the peaks of pleasure together. Sherlock’s thrusts hit the sweet spot in Jim’s depths, making him crazy-delirious and biting down on the detective’s collarbone and shoulder. His inner muscles soon began contracting and it was Sherlock’s turn to lose controls, yowling out loud at how good it felt to be gripped so tight, to be so perfectly caged by that velvety heat. He kept ramming into Jim until drool gathered in his mouth and his eyes began to water from the effort.

 

“N-Now, Jimmy….”

 

“Uhhh….can I cum?”

 

Sherlock nodded.

 

Jim tensed up, his face contorted beautifully as he gave in to the urges, his back arched off of the table and he rubbed his throbbing manhood on Sherlock’s taut abs desperately a few times before a shock-wave scorched through his body. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and it was explosive, to say the least, as he came and came, creating such a racket that Sherlock was glad all the windows and the door were shut tight.

 

Warm splashes of cum hit Sherlock and he came the very next moment, shuddering all over and screaming Jim’s name. Everything around him seemed to fall apart and crumble, his brain turned to jelly and all his blood rushed south, leaving him utterly dizzy and light-headed.

 

When he ejaculated, it was so copious that a stream of it poured out of Jim’s hole and trickled down his buttocks. The slippery, semen-filled hole made squeaky, wet sounds as Sherlock kept fucking Jim through _their joint orgasm_ , hips pistoning back and forth at a steady speed.

 

That maddening speed slowed and Jim's legs dropped to the sides, their lips meeting in slow, lazy, drawn out kisses and nibbles. Slowly the raging manhood between Sherlock's legs softened, slipping out of the still twitching little opening with a soft, squishy sound. Sherlock stepped back to survey his ‘work’, even bending down to press a kiss there, savoring their combined tastes.

 

Jim lay there, wearing the cape, crown and sword-belt, the scepter right next to him. He was a mess of semen and sweat, his skin was peppered with abuse and his hairs were deeply mussed. He looked thoroughly fucked, just like Sherlock had intended.

 

“Now take me to bed,” Jim, the ever-demanding brat, ordered.

 

“First,” Sherlock grabbed his phone from the coffee table and came back, “A photo.”

 

***

 

Sherlock woke first, still in the haze of the events from the night before. The more he remembered, the wider his impish grin grew. Next to him, Jim slept peacefully. Lying on top of the covers, naked as the day he was born and his face smothered mostly into the pillow, he looked quite the dishy sight in the bright rays of mid-morning sun. Sherlock wondered how long they had been out of it! Not that they had to be anywhere…..did they? There was _something_ they needed to do….he couldn’t remember it now.

 

He watched Jim for a long time, nearly forty-five minutes, before he got impatient and started to fondle him all over. “Mppphhhhnnn,” Jim elbowed him painfully, “Go away, lemme sleep.”

 

Sherlock wasn’t fazed by the reaction at all. Jim hated being woken up and he also hated waking up alone, which meant Sherlock had to either endure his bad mood while waking him up or he had to wait till Jim woke on his own. In the second case there were always kisses, cuddles and sometimes a mutual jerk-off to take care of their morning wood. _Morning wood_? Sherlock stared in dismay at the rising flesh between his long legs, that traitor was already standing in attention! He smacked Jim’s bare bottom and kissed it, reveling in the sounds of disgruntlement from his lover.

 

“Wake up and suck me off,” he commanded.

 

“N-Nooo….first go and do that.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“That.”

 

“That, what, that?”

 

Jim made a groaning, sleepy sound, cursed under his breath and rolled over to face the other side. _No service to morning wood then_. Best get out of bed and pester Mrs. Hudson for tea and breakfast. Sherlock sat up, stretched his arms and was about to swing his legs over the side of the bed when the door opened wide and in walked ‘big brother’ Mycroft, dapper in a Burberry suit, a look of pure disgust on his face. Behind him was Sally Donovan.

 

“Where’s Gordon?” Sherlock asked.

 

“GREG Lestrade is attending another case,” Mycroft said in a haughty manner, “Where are those?”

 

“Those? That? What’s wrong with all the geniuses around me today?” Sherlock wondered aloud. Then he snapped at Donovan, “Don’t look at my boyfriend as if he is a snack.” He positioned himself in front of Jim when he realized he too was naked and with a gulp, put a pillow over his lap. He stared defiantly at the two glowering people and then at the still slumbering Jim. “Hey,” he said, “Hey, we have company.”

 

“Where are the crown jewels Sherlock?”

 

That was when Sherlock remembered their drunken adventure, the challenge and the promises from the night before. He and Jim had stolen the crown jewels because Sherlock wanted Jim to wear some of them when they made love. In return Jim had promised he would not even touch himself till Sherlock allowed him to. They had lots of drinks, they had shared jokes, taken risks, stolen, brought them back here, then fucked like bunnies on the kitchen table and then…..Oh God, so that was the unfinished task that itched at the back of his mind. That was the ‘that’ Jim was reminding him of and the ‘those’ Mycroft was looking for. They were supposed to return them at the crack of dawn.

 

Why didn’t they?

 

_Oh, they were out like the light._

 

“Um, why are you asking me?” Sherlock said as casually as possible, since he was sure his and Jim’s combined geniuses ensured no trails led to them.

 

“They have just been discovered, it seems, under your kitchen sink,” Mycroft craned his neck and looked at something down the hallway, while Sherlock could hear a search party in their flat. He winced a bit and then covered himself and Jim with the sheets.

 

“It still doesn’t mean we took them. Anyone could have planted them here.”

 

Mycroft was speechless for a moment before the annoying Donovan came in and showed Mycroft a phone, Sherlock’s phone. When the elder Holmes sibling saw the pics, he was so shocked that his Iceman avatar slipped and he coughed to stop the gasp from coming out. A naked and spent Jim, clearly in afterglow and wearing the crown and cape, Jim brandishing the scepter and Sherlock’s goofy grinning face in the way as the detective took a selfie of them, if these pics were not proof then what was?

 

***

 

“Jawn?”

 

“Sherlock I am with patients. Not now.”

 

“I am allowed only one phone call.”

 

“What? Oh….you are in jail?”

 

“Jim and I _both_ are in jail. We’ve not even had breakfast. We’re hungry, helpless, we need some help. Could you please…um….bail us out and bring some Starbucks when you arrive, one latte and one double shot espresso?”

 

John was so stunned he couldn't find the proper words to respond. After a long pause Sherlock added in the same theatrical manner, “Mycroft won’t help. He says he will keep us here all day and night as well.”

 

The good-natured and forever dependable John Watson sighed and shook his head. When he had heard the news on radio while on his way to work that morning, he had thought maybe it was some other gang or madman who had done the deed this time. But no, it was his bestie and the bestie’s steady boyfriend's handiwork, the two crazy-arse geniuses and their naughty tribunals. “Okay hang in there Sherlock,” he said, already on his feet, “I’ll come over soon.”

 

He disconnected and murmured, “What do they think of me? Their personal 911? Their SOS helpline?”

 

He requested another doctor to see the remainder of his patients, got out of his coat and slipped on his normal jacket, then went to help a sociopath and a psychopath get out of jail on that Monday summer morning.


End file.
